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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30138750">Pouring the Cement</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera'>Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>How to Build a Future [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Breakfast Club (1985)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Domestic, Gunshot Wounds, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:34:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,002</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30138750</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>For Brian’s twentieth birthday, Bender got him a ring and a panic attack, one not related to the other.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>John Bender/Brian Johnson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>How to Build a Future [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2218197</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>85</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Pouring the Cement</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So I wrote this entire sequel and then just...never remembered to post it? I have no idea, but I found it in my drafts, so please enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For Brian’s twentieth birthday, Bender got him a ring and a panic attack, one not related to the other. It was on a Wednesday that year and Brian woke up to an empty bed and his plans for the day already laid out. He’d drive to the campus, sit through two classes, then put in his hours at the library to help them pay for trivial things like food and rent. </p><p>So he wasn’t expecting much of a birthday, basically. They would probably go out on the weekend, he figured. They had a small pool of acquaintances who didn’t know, but also sort of did  know about them. One of the other library pages, Donnie, who liked classical music and had also been a mathlete. He had very very subtly asked Brian out once. He hadn’t told Bender about that. What would be the point? Bender had gotten friendly with the garage secretary, Abbie, who liked having a sure ride home after a soused night out. </p><p>It wouldn’t be a big birthday, but it’d be fun. </p><p>So it was a little surprising once Brian had woken up enough that he registered something on his hand.  A thick dark band of metal resting comfortably at the base of his left middle finger. It was heavy, burnished silver. Inset was a bold rounded ‘B’ where the gem would be on a class ring. </p><p>He stared at it for a long time. Then he pried himself off the bed and into the shower, scrubbing down with the singular soap bar they kept in the shower.  Khakis, getting worn in the seat, were pulled on, but he hesitated at his button down shirt,  eyes caught again on the ring. He reached for one of Bender’s plaid shirts. Buttoned up on him, they looked less defiant and more farmboy. All their clothes smelled the same, doused in detergent, but Bender’s never quite lost the echo of a cigarette around the collar. </p><p>Brian hummed to himself as he poured his coffee into a thermos and grabbed the last package of Poptarts.  The drive wasn’t bad, the classes continued to interest him. Work started out fine, Donnie gave him a book that looked good, unwrapped, but the intent was there. </p><p>He was reshelving in the business section when his name came over the intercom. </p><p>“Johnson to Reference, please, Johnson to Reference.” </p><p>He abandoned his cart and grabbed up his book bag in case they needed him elsewhere in the building.  One of the librarians stood up when she saw him, </p><p>“It’s the phone for you,” she said and she didn’t sound annoyed that a page was taking personal calls. She sounded concerned. </p><p>“This is Brian Johnson speaking,” he looked down at the chipped wood laminate of the desk. </p><p>“Mr. Johnson, this is Steve Bass.” </p><p>“You’re Be- John’s boss,” he felt the beginning of concern creep in. </p><p>“That’s right, we met a few months ago. Listen, uh, he has you down as his emergency contact. Not his parents?” </p><p>“Yes, I’m his contact,” shit...shit.  “Please don’t call his parents.” </p><p>They don’t talk about Bender’s parents. Or they don’t have discussions. Once and a while on a moonless night when it’s perfectly dark in their bedroom, Bender will turn his back on Brian and talk in a voice dulled like a third degree burn where the hurt was so deep even the pain receptors were fried. </p><p>Once Brian had said something like ‘I’m sorry’ and Bender had hissed, ‘You never apologize for them’ and walked out for two days.  He’d come back mumbling apologies and after that Brian had just stayed silent. Until a few weeks ago when it was particularly awful and he’d blurted,  <i>I fucking hate them</i> and Bender had turned over. Had just reached for him, sliding their hands together.</p><p>“Don’t have their number even if I wanted to,” Steve coughed. “He..uh..geez. He’s hurt pretty bad. We’re at the hospital.” </p><p>“Hurt how?” Brian’s vision was narrowing. He felt sweat prickling his brow. </p><p>“He tried to stop a mugging while he was catching a smoke. Guy shot him, got him in the shoulder.” </p><p>“What hospital?” Brian fumbled out a pen, his heart thudding so loud in his ears it almost drowned out the address, the number. “Tell them I’ll be there as soon as I can.” </p><p>His vision greyed out for a second. The librarian who had paged him, touched his shoulder lightly, </p><p>“Brian? </p><p>“My-my best friend just got shot,” best friend, his eyes fell to his hand and the heavy ring, it had chaffed the skin of the fingers around it a little, rubbing them pink. The same pink Bender’s morning stubble sometimes left on his thighs. Fuck, he couldn’t breath.  “I have to go.” </p><p>“Go,” she agreed, “but maybe have a sip of water, take a few deep breaths first?” </p><p>He tried. His vision came back, but he was shaking. He should probably ask someone else to drive him or kill their liquor budget for the month on a cab, but that occurred to him much later. In the moment, he just zombie walked to his car, got in, and went. Later, he wouldn't remember anything of the drive, except the sunset flaming out over a tight wad of dark clouds as he pulled into the parking lot. </p><p>“Excuse me,” he approached the front desk, “I’m looking for John Bender. He was brought into the emergency room an hour or so ago, I think? I’m his emergency contact?” </p><p>A nod, a phone call. Directions. He followed looping halls in washed out colors.  A nurse behind another desk. A hard plastic chair. His hands shook as they wrapped around a magazine gone soft with too many pages turned. Steve re-introduced himself, said Bender could take whatever time he needed and there would be a job for him, before heading home. </p><p>Wait. Wait. Breath. Take a sip of water. Wait. Wait. </p><p>“Mr. Bender?” </p><p>Brian looked up, “I’m his emergency contact.” </p><p>“The brother?” </p><p>Brian considered his options and just tilted his head to the side, a birdlike neutrality. “Mm.” </p><p>“He’s in recovery. You can see him in a half hour or so. The bullet lodged in the bone, but we were able to remove it.  It hit here,”  the doctor pointed below his own shoulder, “and fractured the collar bone. He’ll need a sling for a few weeks and it will scar some, but otherwise he’ll be fine.” </p><p>“Thank you,” he said with more sincerity than he ever had in his life. </p><p>“We’ll keep him overnight for observation.” </p><p>That would be expensive, Brian realized for the first time. They had insurance, but it wasn’t great. They would need to dip into the small savings he’d been steadily building. Shit. Well. Bender was alive, so there was that. </p><p>After a half an hour, a blur of a person in pink scrubs led him to a recovery room. Bender was in a crisp white bed and his chest was rising and falling and Brian’s eyes stung in sharp relief. There he was, thick bandage over the wound, skin greasy and hair sweaty, not his usual self at all, but alive. Brian sat down on a wheeled stool. There were other people moving around them, not a single second of privacy to be found. </p><p>“You asshole, you’re not supposed to get shot,” he swallowed hard, scrubbing hands that wanted to hold against his own face. </p><p>More waiting and Bender’s eyes were opening, only a little, but enough for a nurse to come over. </p><p>“How are you feeling?” they asked briskly, checking monitors. </p><p>“Ngh,” Bender told them. </p><p>Apparently that was enough sign of life to get him wheeled to a room.  Brian followed doggedly behind, watching as they transferred him into a double room, the other occupant a sleeping older man on oxygen, the steady hissing rhythm of the pump the only trace of him once the curtain was pulled. </p><p>More puttering and then there was no one, but them. Brian scooted the heavy chair closer and at last took up Bender’s other hand. Pressed his lips to the calloused fingers, oil still wedged under the nails and cried. </p><p>“Nono,” Bender’s hand slipped from his and landed heavy on the crown of his head, “Don’t.” </p><p>Which just made him cry harder, Bender’s fingers trying clumsily to pet him as he shoulders shook. He was quiet at least, just silent racking sobs that tore ruthlessly through him.  When he managed to get himself down to just dripping tears, he looked up. Bender was staring at him, eyelids still heavy with anesthesia.</p><p>“You’re wearing it,” Bender said quietly. “Thought you might take it off.” </p><p>“That’s what you want to talk about?” </p><p>Bender’s lip twitched, “Yeah, Bri-an, that’s what I wanna talk about.” </p><p>“I hate you so much,” Brian took Bender’s hand back after blowing his nose on scaly hospital tissues. “Stop trying to die to get away from me.” </p><p>“Didn’t know he had a gun,” the sighing answer came. “Was out on a smoke break and this idiot flashed silver at some woman in a nice outfit, thought it was a knife. Broad fucking daylight, the balls on him. I just started cursing at him, headed down the alley. Doesn’t usually take much to scare someone like that off.  Distracted him, she got away and then bam.” </p><p>“Bam,” Brian repeated dully.  </p><p>“I’m not gonna die, genius,” Bender said softly. “I’m just gonna be a huge pain in your ass until I can go back to work.” </p><p>“Yeah, your boss said not to worry about your job.”</p><p>“Why would I worry?” the snort made him wince, a yank at something not ready to be yanked. “He knows I’m the best.” </p><p>“The best, huh?”  </p><p>“Sure, compared to those pathetic assholes.” </p><p>A nurse came to gently shoo Brian out over his protests, but Bender was already half asleep again and giving him sleepy annoyed looks. The drive home felt molasses slow and his legs were leaden as he trudged up the stairs. </p><p>His coffee mug was still next to the sink, where he’d left it before leaving that morning, all optimism and birthday plans. He braced his hands against the sink for a long shaky second, then picked up the mug and washed it along with the dishes from last night’s dinner. The drying rack was nearly full, so he put all the dishes away and reloaded it with the fresh dripping ones. </p><p>The floor was pretty gross, so he swept it. Bender kept the bathroom nearly spotless so there was nothing to do there, but brush his teeth and wash the saline off his face before walking into their bedroom. </p><p>He hadn’t ever slept alone in this bed. The covers were a mess, a sock clinging to the edge. Brian carefully made the bed, put the sock in the hamper and started to get undressed.  It took him a second to remember he was wearing one of Bender’s shirts, soft under his fingertips. He put that in the hamper too, but pulled out a black band t-shirt from Bender’s drawer to replace it. </p><p>The world seemed very quiet. He went out to the living room and turned on the television. Eventually he slept, waking up to the sun and a test pattern. </p><p>He called into the library, but they seemed baffled that he thought he had to. Word had spread apparently. Donnie got on and asked soft, kind questions and promised to stop by with some food soon.  </p><p>Classes would be all right, he could afford a missed day or two or three. So he drove straight back to the hospital. Bender was asleep still, but that was all right. Brian worked on an assignment, making meticulous lines across the page until someone wheeled in a breakfast cart and Bender woke up. </p><p>“Ugh, what is that smell?” he stared at the food suspiciously. </p><p>“Part of your hotel stay, sir,” Brian put his feet up on the bed. “Enjoy the luxury of broth, apple juice and I think that’s jello.” </p><p>It was an astonishing super power of Bender’s that he could digest almost anything without any ill effects. He rarely even had the good grace to have a hangover even when he outdrank Brian by a mile. Today, he managed about half the broth and didn’t even give the jello a humorous poke. </p><p>The cops came in before Brian could bust on him for it.  They were in uniform, and Brian could practically feel Bender’s attitude shift. But none of it showed in his face. He was just waiting, quietly, eyes sharp. </p><p>“Mr. John Bender?” </p><p>“That’s me,” he agreed. </p><p>“We’d like to take your statement about yesterday’s events.” Pen out, clicked, small pad. </p><p>Brian looked between them, willing Bender to play it smart. But he shouldn’t have worried.  </p><p>“I went out for a smoke break around 3pm,” Bender said carefully. “I saw a woman walking and a person came up behind her, said something and she stopped walking. I thought I saw a knife. So I yelled, just to draw attention. She ran away and I thought it was over, but it was a gun, not a knife I guess. Next thing I know, it feels like my shoulder is on fire.” </p><p>“Did you see the perpetrator's face?” </p><p>“No, they had a hood up, I think,” Bender frowned, a mockery of Brian’s study face that he liked to draw out on the weekends when Brian hit the books too hard. “I was probably twenty or thirty feet away. Didn’t see much.” </p><p>They ask the same questions in different ways, Brian scrunched small, ignorable so they wouldn’t ask him to leave. </p><p>“We managed to find the woman he attempted to assault, she gave us a description,” one officer’s eyes were narrowing, but Bender’s facade was good. Just slightly puzzled, not actively mocking or denying. </p><p>“Do any of these men look familiar?” They handed Bender a sheet with six faces, all young, all black. </p><p>Bender looked without looking, the way he looked over Brian’s papers when Brian was desperate for a second opinion and was willing to resort to ‘what the fuck do I know about Plutarch, genius?  You spelled ‘though’ wrong” </p><p>“No, sorry,” he gave a last squinting look. “Just saw the guy’s hands. Looked white to me.”</p><p>“You call us if you remember anything else,” a card was handed over and dutifully taken. </p><p>They disappeared after and they waited several long minutes to be entirely sure they were gone. </p><p>“Was it one of them?” </p><p>“Maybe,” Bender closed his eyes. “I didn’t really get a good look. But fuck them, right? Kid couldn’t be older than fifteen. Not gonna hand him over to them.” </p><p>“Okay,” Brian folded his arms on the edge of the bed and set his head down on them. “Okay.” </p><p>They turned Bender loose by the end of the day. Brian drove home carefully, and Bender didn’t even give him shit for it. He just closed his eyes, half-asleep and when they got home, leaned heavy on Brian as they went up the stairs. </p><p>“You want soup?” Brian asked cautiously once Bender was settled on the couch, sitting up, but listing against the arm. </p><p>“Toast.” </p><p>He made it through a few bites, set it aside and wandered into their bedroom. Didn’t come out.  Brian shed layers and crawled in under the blankets to carefully square his body against Bender’s. He smelled like the hospital. The sling was draped over their bedside table. </p><p>“Hey,” Brian said quietly, listening to Bender’s deep breath even and there. “Thanks for the ring.” </p><p>In the morning, the bed was empty, but Brian could hear cursing. Bender was in the kitchen, sling on, cigarette over one ear, one egg shattered on the counter. </p><p>“I can do that,” Brian offered. </p><p>Bender tore off a piece of paper towel. Or tried to. It sort of just unspooled a little. </p><p>“Wow,” Brain said flatly. </p><p>“Shut up, I got shot,” Bender groused. </p><p>“Couch. Find something to rot what’s left of your brain.” </p><p>He made him scrambled eggs. They ate breakfast as the morning news washed chatter over them. </p><p>“Is the B for me or for you?” Brian asked when the last of the food was gone and it looked like Bender might fall asleep again. </p><p>Bender shot him a look that Brian couldn’t decipher. </p><p>“For both, I guess.” </p><p>They took a shower, Brian meticulously taping down the bandages so the wound wouldn’t get wet and trying not to cry again over the ugly puckering wound.  He washed Bender’s hair over his weak protests and sent the rest of the hospital smell down the drain. </p><p>“You’ve got a class in an hour,” Bender muttered as he slouched back into the class. </p><p>“Uh, obviously I’m not going.” </p><p>“You fed and watered me, I can take a piss on my own. Go and get out of my fucking hair, genius.” </p><p>“But-” </p><p>“Buh-bye. Bring me home takeout.” </p><p>Very reluctantly, Brian went to class. He jittered through it, mind in a thousand directions as he took aimless notes. He went to the next one too because he just knew if he went home, he’d be getting shoved back out the door. </p><p>He got takeout, the Chinese place they both liked. Bought too much, but his head was in the stratosphere, so he figured it was impressive that he made it home at all. </p><p>And it turned out to be a good thing, when he heard a woman’s voice floating through their door. He figured it was Abbie from the garage. She’d probably brought by a get well card. He felt a little better that Bender hadn’t been alone all day. </p><p>Key in the door, door open.  Couch, Bender looking like he’d barely moved all day and Ab-</p><p>Not Abbie. It took him a second to place her, the red hair no longer cut in a bob, but longer and feathered softly around her face. </p><p>“Claire,” he set the Chinese on the card table the pretended was a kitchen table. They always ate on the couch. “Hi.” </p><p>“Hi,” she smiled at him, pearly white teeth just the same. She was wearing a soft looking pink sweater that drifted to midthigh and tights black as night.  She didn’t look right on their secondhand sofa. As if a movie star had turned up in a dive bar.  “It’s good to see you, Brian.” </p><p>“I-yeah,” he blinked. “It’s good to see you too.”</p><p>“Turns out Claire has her hand in a cop’s crotch these days,” Bender drawled. </p><p>“Shut up,” she said without so much as a glance at him. “Dan’s a good guy. He thought he recognized your name, asked me if it was the guy I talked about sometimes.”</p><p>“Is that legal?” </p><p>Claire shrugged, “Anyway, I hadn’t seen you guys since you ran away from home. Figured getting shot warranted a drive-by visit.”</p><p>“You like sesame chicken?” he offered weakly, unsure of how to parse Bender’s eyes on him. </p><p>They ate on the couch. Claire took the floor, long legs stretched out in front of her. She spoke slower these days. Gathered her hair up in a ponytail halfway through dinner without looking, without caring how it might look. Bender watched her with a casual intensity that Brian was used to hogging for himself these days. </p><p>“So once I pass the exam, I’ll be a licensed real estate agent.”</p><p>“You’ll be good at it,” Brian offered and she smiled up at him. </p><p>“I hope so. Have my own money, get away from mom and dad...but I guess you two know all about that. Any tips?” </p><p>“Not really,” Brian shrugged. “We just...did it.” </p><p>“Brian did it,” Bender broke in unexpectedly. “Brought me along for the ride.” </p><p>“Yeah, well. Just make sure you have towels before you move in.” </p><p>Claire glanced between them, “Yeah, I figured that part out. But how do you handle the money?” </p><p>Which was how Brian wound up explaining to Claire how he budgeted their income while Bender nodded off on the couch trying to pretend he was awake. </p><p>It was surreal and by the time Claire left in silky, softly scented hugs, Brian’s head was spinning. </p><p>“So,” he sat down next to Bender, their knees touching and nothing else. “Claire.” </p><p>“Right?” Bender snorted. “Who the fuck knew two weeks in the backseat of her car were enough for a pity visit?”</p><p>“I never asked what happened.” </p><p>Bender gave him an amused side eye, “You didn’t want to know.” </p><p>He hadn’t. He hadn’t wanted to know why Bender slid easily out of the backseat of Claire’s expensive car and her clever banter, right into Brian’s twin bed with their mouths sealed over each other to achieve a perfect silence. </p><p>He hadn’t wanted to know then if he’d been the consolation prize. </p><p>These days, he thought he knew better. Maybe. </p><p>“Should I know?” he asked quietly. </p><p>Bender leaned a little against him, “C’mon, genius. She and me never made a fuck of sense together.” </p><p>“We do though.” </p><p>“Mm,” Bender yawned, “you want me to talk chess to you?” </p><p>“Yeah,” Brian laughed. “Go ahead.” </p><p>Brian had actually taught Bender how to play chess in the dim days before they could afford a television. He’d been roundly mocked and teased through the lessons and then Bender had promptly beaten him four times in a row. He knew how things fit together.  It’d been so hot that Brian almost gave himself a concussion trying to jump him. </p><p>“Way I see it, Claire liked pawns. Dunno if she’s better about it now, but she did then, right?” </p><p>“Yeah,” Brian’s hand found its way to the ends of Bender’s hair, “sure. Queen loves a pawn.” </p><p>“And I was a good one. Scandalize the parents, get rid of snotty assholes that wanted things from her. I could do all that. But pawns can’t move much, they’re there for taking and sacrificing.” </p><p>“Could argue all the pieces are for that, except the king,” Brian considered. “But okay, I’m following.” </p><p>“Way I figure,” Bender breathed out, “I’m no one’s pawn. And fuck anyone who wanted me to stay where I was.” </p><p>“You make a good bishop,” Brian offered. “Moving in from the sides. Or a knight. What does that make me though?” </p><p>“The kind of dweeb that thinks chess talk is sexy, you fucking weirdo,” Bender laughed, rustily. </p><p>Their usual mock wrestling was out, but they figured out how to make it work and wound up sated and mostly unharmed. </p><p>“You’re the King,” Bender’s fingers were on Brian’s mapping knuckles with practiced interest. </p><p>“Because I’m a sitting duck?” he snorted. </p><p>Bender tapped the ring once, “Because you’re the point of the fucking game, genius.” </p><p>Brian shivered and kissed him because what the hell else did you say to that?</p><p>There was a square of paper, nearly forgotten in a corner of Brian’s wallet. He recalled it when he saw Claire and felt terribly guilty.  With everything, he figured he might as well call while it was still on his mind. </p><p>If it was even still her number. </p><p>An unfamiliar voice picked up, but when he said, “Uh, hi my name is Brian. Is Allison there, please?”  the voice yelled her name across a hall. </p><p>“Hello?” </p><p>“Hey, Allison. I don’t know if you remember me, but it’s Bria-”</p><p>“Of course I remember you,” she said quickly, her words falling together. “Are you calling because you heard?” </p><p>“Heard what?” he frowned. “I just...I wanted to say hi, that’s all.” </p><p>“My dad died,” she said dully. “I thought maybe you heard. A lot of people have called to say sorry. People I don’t even remember.” </p><p>“Oh,” he stared at his feet. “No. I- I can- sorry for your loss?” </p><p>“Yeah, I’m not,” she laughed, but it was cold and dead. “So you called after two years to say hi?” </p><p>“Sorry, yeah. I just- I sort of missed you all of a sudden.” </p><p>There was silence and he could still picture her somehow, the way she’d bite her lip and look away. Her eyes were forever skittering past you to something just over your shoulder. The mannerisms she’d carefully cultivated as a barrier between herself and the world.  </p><p>“Oh,” she let the silence drag out for a long moment. “So can I crash with you when I come for the funeral?” </p><p>He considered that, put his hand over the receiver, </p><p>“Hey!” Bender glanced up from his apparently fully absorbed interest in his fingernails. “You care if Allison comes and stays with us for a couple of days?” </p><p>“Allison who?” Brian gave him a death glare, Bender rolled his eyes. “Sure, whatever. We’ll just be a hostel for every fucker we met in high school, why not?” </p><p>“We’d be delighted to have you,” Brian told her. “You should know that Bender is up a bullet in his shoulder and it’s making him a real pleasure to be around.” </p><p>“That’s okay,” she said lightly. “I’ll probably be on the rag anyway.” </p><p>They settled the details while Brian tried hard not to think about that too much.  </p><p>Between then and her arrival, Brian helped Bender get dressed around his sling, combed his hair and drove him to the garage. He waited patiently in the background as the other mechanics crowded around him, asking him questions and hitting him companionably on his uninjured shoulder.  They seemed genuinely happy to see him, bringing him over to one of the cars, pointing at something Brian couldn’t see and asking him something. </p><p>Bender didn’t smile or at least not the broad laughing one that he often offered to Brian. It was a small twitchy thing, more a general set to his shoulders. Some of these guys were as old or older than his father and they liked him. They wanted to ask his opinion and see how he was healing up.   </p><p>“I’ll be back next week,” he told them. “Just gotta keep it easy, not lift too much.” </p><p>Abbie gave him a careful hug and studied his face, “You better not come back until you’re good and healed up, all right?” </p><p>“Okay,” Bender sunk his hands into his pockets. She pulled a brightly colored lollipop out of a container on her desk, and handed  it to him solemnly. </p><p>“For being a hero.” </p><p>He didn’t protest, sticking it into his mouth and walking back to the car pleased as punch. </p><p>“What flavor?” Brian asked at a loss to add or remove from the moment. </p><p>“Cherry,” Bender winked at him. </p><p>Brian snorted, hip checked him and got back in the car. </p><p>Allie arrived like a clap of thunder a few days later. She had cut her hair short, a manic hedgehog look about her. Her eyes were rimmed in black eyeliner and a denim jacket covered in patches swallowed most of her frame. </p><p>“What’s up assholes?” She asked, letting Brian hug her and exchanging eye rolls with Bender.  She threw her bag on the couch. “This is my bed?” </p><p>Bender looked over her head at Brian, who shrugged. </p><p>“You get a bed.” </p><p>She looked around the place curiously, wandering off without another word to poke her nose into each room. </p><p>“So that’s how it is?” she frowned a little as she circled back to the couch. </p><p>“That’s how it is,” Bender said simply, Brian holding his breath tight in his lungs. </p><p>“Huh,” she sat down beside him on the couch. “Didn’t figure you for homo.” </p><p>“Yeah, well,” Bender snorted. “Life’s  a fucking endless mystery.” </p><p>“Is he nice to you?” she gestured at Brian. </p><p>“Yeah,” Bender smiled fractionally. “Nicer than I am to him.” </p><p>“Not true,” Brian turned his back on them to hide his smile. “Factually inaccurate.” </p><p>“Uh huh, let the record show that the perp is blushing.” </p><p>“The accused, not the perp.” </p><p>A balled up piece of paper hit him in the back of the head. </p><p>“So things haven’t changed that much,” Allison laughed and it was a good laugh. She never used to sound that free with it. </p><p>Having her around wasn’t bad. She stayed in the guest room most of the time, took showers at convenient times, paid for dinner once or twice.  Brian drove her to the funeral, but she got another ride back. She didn’t say much about her father and they didn’t ask. </p><p>“I’m going to head out in the morning,” she told them with a hint of regret. “Let’s not be strangers.” </p><p>“Our casa is your casa,” Bender did hug her this time, one armed, but strong enough that she almost disappeared into his flannel shirt. </p><p>Alone at last and Bender feeling better, they had some lazy couch sex. </p><p>“We still gotta go out. For your birthday,” Bender walked fingers down his spine in the aftermath. </p><p>“Nah,” Brian laid his ear to his chest, heard the steady distant beat of his heart. “This is good.” </p><p>Bender was a lighter sleeper than him, always starting awake at the slightest sound, and then going warily back to sleep, eyes on the door.   </p><p>So it was hard to figure out how to magic the ring that he’d found in a thrift store with Allison. It was a heavy looking thing, a thick band of silver with the marks of someone that worked with their hands gouged into the soft metal. There was the shape of a skull pressed crudely into the center, the sort of memento mori that Bender would appreciate, find suitably badass not to toss away on principle. </p><p>Instead of trying some smooth move that would doubtless end with a disgruntled partner, Brian wound up plopping the ring into the palm of Bender’s hand, folding his fingers around it. </p><p>“For whatever.” </p><p>“This is a fucking skull,” Bender looked at it amused. “What kind of message is that?” </p><p>“Till death,” Brian shrugged. “If you stop jumping in front of bullets, it might even be a promise worth something.” </p><p>“Shut up,” Bender slid the ring on the left middle finger where it gleamed dully, then went back to petting Brian's back. </p><p>Brian complied, eyes falling closed.</p>
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